


Angel Baby

by ARealPip



Series: Angel Baby [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angels don't have organs, Comedy, Confusion, Gen, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Mpreg, Other, POV Outsider, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, baby angel, confused humans, mpreg crowley, ultrasound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 03:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20108194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARealPip/pseuds/ARealPip
Summary: Crowley is pregnant, and Aziraphale takes him to a pre-natal appointment.  The staff make a valiant effort to provide medical care to genderfluid supernatural beings.





	Angel Baby

**Author's Note:**

> I've read a couple of fics on AO3 that had Crowley become pregnant, and I started to think: what would that look like from a human perspective? 
> 
> So I decided to torture some imaginary doctors and nurses.
> 
> Warning: In this story, some of the medical staff are unaware that males can have a pregnancy and some of them are gossipy and unkind. 
> 
> As I've been reading and writing the follow-ups to this story, I've been reading and viewing first person accounts of males who have had babies, and most of them have been able to find really supportive doctors and nurses and midwives, even if they lived in rural places. And medical people are writing very helpful guides to best practices in handling pregnancies in non-females. So now that I look back on this story that I wrote so many months ago, I'm embarrassed at how ignorant I made some of the staff of my imaginary hospital.
> 
> If you are a non-binary person or trans male who is considering having a pregnancy some day, you should know that it is quite possible to surround yourself with a super-awesome medical team who will provide you with excellent care and who will not only respect everything about you but also have the clinical experience to deal with your particular needs.

The whispers are so low that they can barely be heard. The whisperers have carefully shut all of the glass windows of their office, and are pretending to be huddled around a computer that faces away from the waiting room. 

"Oh my God, you weren't kidding."

"Do they think we are some kind of adoption agency? Do they understand what an Ob/Gyn office is?"

"They seriously think they are pregnant. That's what the white haired guy said to me. He thinks his male partner is pregnant."

"What is wrong with them?"

"I mean the other guy has a serious swelling in his abdomen. Something is up."

"Why didn't you cancel the appointment and send them home?"

Amy looks up implacably at the cluster of nurses and secretaries whispering around her desk. She raises an eyebrow and waits for silence. 

Amy speaks once everyone else has stopped. "It seems to me that there is something wrong, and the man needs to be seen by someone. I can send them down to Accident and Emergency, but they might not even go. Does that guy look like we should let him back out on the street?"

Leanne is not convinced. "What billing code do we even use? This is ridiculous. I'm going to refer them to Internal Medicine."

Amy is firm. "That guy needs to be seen soon. Internal is booking months out. The guy definitely needs an abdominal ultrasound, and we've already got him booked for an ultrasound an hour from now. So let's just let them keep the ultrasound appointment, and let's get him looked at by Dr. Sepp. She can order all the tests, and get him admitted if he needs it. She used to do internal medicine, and she's really good with difficult patients."

"What do I tell the technician? I can't just send a male down for a pregnancy scan," says Faith.

"I'll call Ultrasound and get it all sorted out," says Amy. "Just tell Dr. Sepp that we want her in Room Two, and give her this note."

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Simone gets the honors of escorting the gay couple to room two. She always gets the weirdos. It's because she has the reputation for being unflappable. Poor stupid fools think they are going to be parents, and they're going to find out that one of them is dangerously ill. She isn't looking forward to it at all. But at least it will be the doctor who has to explain it all to them. 

Simone grabs a clipboard. "Crowley," she says. 

The two men stand up and follow her out of the waiting room. The white haired man, at least, seems oblivious to all of the stares from the other patients, whereas the other man, the one with the terrible swelling, seems all too aware. He hisses something into his partner's ear. 

"Right this way," Simone says, leading them past the secretary's station, where everyone seems extremely busy and involved in their work. She spots a nurse needlessly reorganizing urine samples on a tray in the hall. Several of the rotating medical interns seem to be clustered around a tablet in the corner of the hall, and they do a terrible job of acting casual. 

"The doctor will come by in a couple of minutes," Simone says, shutting the door from the inside. "Now, can you please verify your name and date of birth?"

Later, Simone wouldn't recall exactly how she'd managed to get through the encounter. Her equipment seemed to malfunction, and the men asked very odd questions. A blood pressure cuff should be pretty foolproof, but the first pressure she got was 60/20. The man was sitting upright, and she'd never seen a blood pressure like that on a conscious person, or, for that matter, on a person that was ever going to be conscious again. 

"That's not right," Simone had said.

"What is it supposed to be?" the white haired gentleman had asked.

"Ideally, in the range of 120 over 80," Simone had answered. She restarted the machine, and the second time, it was 125 over 75. She entered that number into the computer. 

The thermometer registered 30 degrees. When she glared at it and restarted it, the patient whispered something to his partner and wouldn't let her try again until he'd checked something on his phone. The second reading was 37 degrees Celsius. Right on the money. 

Normally, Simone had a script to follow for first time Ob/Gyn encounters. She had scrolled down the screen until she could find a question that seemed applicable. "Do you have a primary care physician?"

The patient was silent for several moments. "No. I don't think we do, do we Angel?"

"I don't believe so," replied the white haired man. "Is that something we are required to have?"

"No problem," Simone had said. "I'll just make a note in your file. The doctor will be in directly." She handed the patient a hospital gown. "Strip and put this on. Leave it open in the back."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The doctor rereads the note a second time. Well, that explains the behavior of the interns, she thinks. Dr. Nicola Sepp is a stern woman in late middle age. She doesn't tolerate any unprofessional behavior from her staff. She will deal with the secretaries later. As much as she knows that she can't spare the time, she rounds up the three interns, and brings them to her office. 

It is only the first week of their clinical rotation, and they don't know her very well. This is perhaps why Fritz, the cockiest of the bunch, makes the big mistake of saying what he really thinks, and wearing a triumphant smile while he does.

"Doctor Sepp," says Fritz "What do you think-- ascites, right?"

"It could still be a transgender male with a pregnancy," says Rashmi.

Fritz is very confident. "No way. It's totally liver failure."

"Or even an intersex person," says Rashmi. 

"You can get ascites with end stage cancer," says Ethan.

"Yeah, but liver failure is more likely. You hear hoofbeats, you don't think zebras, right Dr. Sepp?"

"Dr. Sepp, can I assist?", asks Rashmi.

"No," says Dr Nicola Sepp. "Professional experiences are for those who can be trusted to act professionally. None of you are going to assist."

"What?"

"Why not?"

"We didn't actually say the name or anything identifying."

Dr. Nicola Sepp talks over them. "It doesn't matter what you did or didn't say. If I ever hear of any of you talking about, or staring at, a patient in my hallways again, your dean will get a personal phone call from me."

Nicola lets the silence get uncomfortable before she speaks. "I'm going to see the patient now."

And she leaves them, gaping open mouthed, and opens the door and walks across the hall to room two. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Nicola knocks, and, when there is no answer, she knocks again. Then she knocks a third time and opens the door a crack. She overhears a snippet of conversation.

"...what are they even going to be able to tell us? We are on our own Angel. Like always."

She knocks again, louder, and rattles the door handle at the same time. "Can I come in?"

Nicola is only slightly surprised to see that her patient is still dressed in his street clothes. He is wearing black stretchy gym pants that he has rolled down to accommodate his swollen belly and he has a dark, loose fitting shirt and a jacket and sunglasses with wrap around sides. They completely hide his eyes. He isn't even sitting on the examining table. Clearly, building trust is going to be the first order of business. 

"I'm Doctor Sepp," she said, extending her hand to the patient. 

He shakes her hand, and she has a very peculiar feeling come over her. It is ominous and prickly and very disconcerting. The patient doesn't break the silence at all. Hoping that her face hasn't betrayed anything, Nicola sits down at her computer.

"It says here that your name is Anthony Crowley, is that the name you want me to use?", she says.

"Fine," he replies.

"And who is this that you brought with you today?"

The white haired man speaks up "Ezra Fell. I'm his...."

"Partner," says the patient.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Fell," she says, offering her hand. He takes it, and smiles warmly. Nicola finds herself relaxing. She isn't sure why she had been so worried about this particular patient. Clearly, things are going to be just fine. And the partner has even given her the correct gender pronoun. 

With practiced ease, and perfect neutrality, the doctor asks her first question, "Now Mr Crowley, why don't you tell me what brings you here today."

"Just Crowley"

"My apologies. Crowley, can you tell me what brings you here today."

"Is she being stupid on purpose?", the patient says to his partner.

"No dear. I believe she wants to hear you tell her about how the pregnancy is going," says Mr. Fell. 

"Well that's the problem, isn't it? We don't know," says the patient. "If we knew, we could handle it on our own. You tell us. That's your job, right?"

Nicola wants to proceed very carefully. There are a lot of wrong things she could say. She doesn't want to scare this patient before she's even examined him. She doesn't want him to refuse medical treatment, and right now, he seems very much like he is the sort of person who would walk out the door and never return to any hospital. 

"Can I ask you a few questions before I examine you?", asks Nicola.

The patient grunts and nods, so she continues.

"Can you verify your age for me?", she asks.

"Whatever it says there is correct," Crowley says.

"So you are 45 years old and your birthday is December 22nd?"

"Sure", he says.

"It says here you don't have a primary care doctor. When was the last time you visited a doctor?

"1861," says the patient.

"Crowley," says the doctor, "I want to be able to help you. But I can't help if you don't give me accurate information."

"Fine," Crowley replies. "I haven't actually been to a doctor before now."

"Have you ever visited an emergency room or walk-in clinic?", she asks.

"Nope."

"Have you ever had any surgeries of any kind?"

"Nope."

"Did you see a doctor when you were a child?"

"No, never was a child."

The doctor makes a note that a Psych referral may be needed. "Were you ever vaccinated?"

"Angel?", he says, looking at his partner. 

"Um," says Mr. Fell. "We'll just say that's probably a 'No.' "

The doctor makes a note. She continues. "Have you had any health problems in the past?"

"Nope."

"Are there any health conditions that run in your family?"

"Nope."

"And right now, how are you feeling?"

"Little tired. Very fat. Whassit matter? That's all normal, right?"

"And when did you first notice this abdominal swelling?"

"What is she saying, Angel?", Crowley says to his partner.

"I think she wants to know how far along you are, darling," says Mr. Fell.

"Well it was about six months ago wasn't it? Maybe a little more?", Crowley says, mostly to his partner.

"Six months!?" Nicola struggles to keep her voice even. "Is there a reason that you didn't seek medical attention before now?" 

"Well," says Mr. Fell, "It was all very unexpected. We hadn't even thought it was possible. We just thought we'd try something a little different and we didn't think to take precautions, really, we didn't know anything about that sort of thing at all, and then he got sick for a month, but we didn't realize, and then a month after that he started to get fat, and that's when we figured it out." 

Crowley looks a little embarrassed but his partner chatters on. 

"Of course we are very excited to be parents, but we thought we might need a little bit of help with this later stage of things, so we came to see you."

It is a lot of information take in. It is hard to decide what to ask next. Finally Nicola settles on a question. 

"Are you feeling any pain anywhere in your body?"

"Only when they kick me."

"I see," says the doctor. "And when that happens, where do you feel the pain?" 

The patient makes a vague gesture. Nicola decides that she'll circle back round to that line of questioning. 

"Have you had any vomiting?"

"Yes. I just said that. I threw up for a month," says Crowley. 

"But he has been keeping everything down ever since," adds Mr. Fell. 

"How about confusion, headaches, dizziness?"

"Not until right now," says Crowley.

"He hasn't had any of those problems at all," says Fell.

"How much alcohol do you drink in a typical week?"

"He hasn't touched a drop in four months," says Fell. Crowley scowls.

"Yes," says Nicola, "But before then, over the past few years, what was your normal habit?"

Both men burst out laughing. Finally Crowley says "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Dr. Nicola Sepp now has a very good suspicion of what her diagnosis is going to be. The odd thing is, the blood pressure in the chart is too low for liver failure. She reaches for the blood pressure cuff. As she winds it around the patient's arm, she asks "So, in a typical day, how much would you drink?"

"What do you think Angel? 3 or 4 bottles in a night?"

"3 or 4 beers a night?", confirms the doctor, studying the suspiciously normal blood pressure reading.

"Bottles of wine."

"All by yourself?"

"Or whiskey," says the partner. "We used to be able to kill two bottles of whisky in a night."

"I miss being able to do that." says the patient. 

"Now, can I take a look at your eyes?" 

"My eyes are fine. I told you this was a waste of time, Angel."

"I'm going to get another blood pressure cuff," says Dr. Sepp, "I'll be right back." 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Five minutes later, Dr. Nicola Sepp has taken three blood pressure readings with two different machines and still hasn't had a look at the patient's eyes. She knows that her schedule is sliding out of control, but if she lets this man walk out of her office today, it could cost him his life. She presses on with her questions. 

"How is your appetite recently?"

Mr. Fell jumps right in. "He never has eaten much, but for the last few months I've taken pains to feed him healthy food three times a day. And NO alcohol whatsoever from the moment we realized."

Nicola nods. "And are you having regular bowel movements?"

"What the heaven is she talking about, Angel?", hisses Crowley. 

"Not sure, darling, give me a minute to think." Mr Fell closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them. He giggles and whispers into his companion's ear. 

The patient raises his eyebrows behind his dark glasses, and then whispers back. Nicola waits. At least her patient has a strong relationship with his partner. Whatever he is facing, he isn't going to be facing it alone. That is a cheering thought. 

"Everything is just fine in that department. Perfectly normal," says the patient. 

"Any changes in urination: frequency, pain, anything at all?"

Crowley smirks. "No changes at all."

Her patient has provided no useful information at all. Nicola finds that it is a lot like the times in the past where she was forced to use a family member as a translator for a patient who didn't speak any English. The only reliable information is going to be from her examination. Nevertheless, there is one more important question. She doesn't have high hopes. But she asks anyway.

"I know this might be a very sensitive question," she says. "You present yourself as male." She pauses. No rescue is forthcoming. So she keeps on. "I want you to understand that I and this hospital guarantee your privacy. But in order to give you care, I need to know your biological gender. That is, whether you have male or female anatomy or something in between."

"I have whatever I like," says Crowley. His smile is unsettling. Nicola isn't quite sure how that confusing statement could sound so much like a threat, and she has a very strong urge to leave the room, but a moment later, Mr. Fell interjects.

"He has female anatomy," says Mr. Fell. Then he gives his partner a meaningful look. "And it's perfectly normal."

"Right," says the doctor, regaining her stride. "So you have periods?"

Crowley doesn't answer. 

"Well," says Mr. Fell, "Generally it's been one or the other for long stretches, but for the time since we've been together as, well, as sexual partners, he wasn't really female until just this year."

This is utterly unintelligible to the doctor. 

She tries again. "Do you normally menstruate?"

They whisper back and forth a bit. Finally Mr. Fell speaks. 

"I think that must be a 'No' again. I hope that's not a problem." 

Nicola has given up entirely on asking questions. She's going to have to do an examination and figure things out. If the patient lets her touch him. 

"Would it be alright," she hazards "if I were to start by looking in your throat?" The patient agrees to this, and lets her look in his ears, but still won't take off the dark glasses. He claims that any light hurts his eyes, but brushes off her offer to dim the room lights. He refuses to answer any questions about his eyes.

"My eyes work fine. We didn't come here for you to look at my eyes. Get on with it."

She tries to listen to his heart, but the moment she puts the stethoscope to his chest, she becomes very confused. At first, she can't find the sound. And then she hears exactly what she expected to hear. She is a bit confused, but Mr. Fell smiles reassuringly, and she realizes that it isn't a problem. She decides that the breathing is also fine, and then sits back. 

"Would you be able to hop up on the table for me?", she asks.

Crowley grunts. But he slides up onto the table with a surprising amount of grace. That's a good sign. Whatever is going on, he still has a lot of vitality. She washes her hands with soap and warm water. 

Now comes the difficult part. "Crowley, I need to take a look at this belly. If you could just lie down for me. Now, may I just move your shirt up a bit?"

A grunt. The doctor takes that as a yes, and she raises up the shirt. It is very clear that her patient does not like to be touched. He seems to radiate malice and darkness, and she finds herself not wanting to palpate his belly. She hesitates. 

Mr. Fell gets up and stands next to his partner, taking his hand. He nods at her, and then says, to Crowley, "Now don't interfere, my dear."

It feels like a pregnant belly. Firm, taut, with a solid lump that could possibly be a head. Nicola is floored. She puts a stethoscope to it, and tries to find a heartbeat. She can't find it. She tries again. Nothing there. She moves the stethoscope around. She has the patient lie on his side. Nothing. Her heart sinks. She schools her face very carefully. 

"I'm going to bring you over to Ultrasound. We need to check a few things."

Her memories of the next few moments are blurred. She thinks that the couple asked something and she answered them. She remembers a sound, like the snap of finger, and then she is looking at both of them. Mr. Fell is smiling, and he doesn't seem at all worried, and oddly, she isn't worried either. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crowley and Aziraphale have been brought to a dark room. A nurse had insisted on wheeling Crowley in a wheelchair directly from the doctor's office, down a deserted back corridor to another room, a larger one, with a bed and a computer next to it. They've handed him another one of the hospital gowns, and this time, Aziraphale isn't letting him get away with not putting it on.

"Am I going to have to put it on you?", the angel says. 

Crowley snaps his fingers. He looks down at the hospital gown he is now wearing. "This has got to be the ugliest pattern possible," he remarks. "And see how it falls off no matter how you try to adjust it? This garment is designed to make you feel humiliated and exposed. And the humans invented it themselves. They are brilliant." He expands his attention to take in his wider surroundings. "They're standing just outside the door talking about me."

"They're really confused about the lack of heartbeat," says Aziraphale. "But I've been able to keep them from panicking."

There is a knock.

"Come on in," says Aziraphale. The door opens, and six people walk into the dimly lit room.

Four of them claim to be doctors, but Crowley can detect the lack of confidence in the students. 

"Those two," says Crowley, pointing first to the young man and then to the young woman. "They don't need to be here."

"I assure you," begins the oldest doctor, but Aziraphale cuts him off.

"My partner doesn't like to have a lot of people around," says Aziraphale. "I'm sure you understand." The medical students have already left before he is even finished talking. 

A technician, a woman, helps Crowley to lay on his back and drapes a sheet over his legs and his midsection. She tries to take his dark glasses, but Crowley curls his lip at her, and she retreats. Then she hikes up the hospital gown and begins to smear cold sticky stuff on his belly. He grunts, but Aziraphale, standing by his head, bends over and whispers quietly in his ear. He lays still. The technician presses a hard blunt object into his belly. 

Dr. Sepp comes in a moment later, and the three doctors huddle around a large screen, which they've turned so that neither Aziraphale nor Crowley can see it.

"She's pushing too hard," hisses Crowley to Aziraphale. "She'll hurt the baby."

"Nonsense, dear, she's perfectly competent. She's the best ultrasound technician in the hospital."

This happens to be true, and it startles the technician to hear them say it. But then a moment later, she is back to work, methodically scanning. What she is seeing is very odd, but she has three doctors and another senior technician to do the interpreting, so the fact that her mind is very unusually relaxed isn't the least bit eerie to her. She just needs to show them the images and take the measurements. At least, the measurements that she can take.

"Don't see why we can't have a look too," grumbles Crowley. "What the heaven else are we even here for?"

"Hush darling, it won't be a problem," replies Aziraphale. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The internal medicine doctor, the fetal medicine specialist, the senior technician, and Dr. Sepp are all very confused. They are staring at the screen without comprehension. They are, for the first time, experiencing what their patients might feel when looking at all the grey static and the funny blobs. They can't interpret what their eyes are seeing.

It is definitely baby shaped. It is definitely alive and moving. It is even sucking its thumb. It looks to be about 28 weeks along. It has a umbilical cord. It has bones, mostly in the right places. The teeth buds seem to be slightly misshapen. But where the internal organs should be, things don't seem quite right. Specifically, there don't seem to be internal organs. The heart, for example, can't be found. There are also no kidneys, no liver, and no small intestine. It's as if this creature was made by someone who knew what a baby looks like on the outside, but who didn't bother to finish off all the internal bits. The doctors and the technician are silent. The impossible baby on the screen kicks. 

Dr. Sepp takes the wand and brings it around Crowley's stomach and over to the back of the baby where there is a strange skeletal deformity. There are what look like fine thin arms coming off of the back, between the shoulder blades. But they aren't arms. They look more like...

"Wings!", says the patient's partner. He is suddenly standing directly behind the doctors, staring at the screen and clasping his hands together in rapture, oblivious to the horrified expressions on the doctor's faces. "I had hoped it would have wings. Darling it's beautiful!"

"Well, when do I get to see?", says Crowley. He makes to sit up, but his partner shoots him a glare. 

"They aren't done yet," says the partner. "Now," he says, turning to the doctors, "I hear that you can tell us the gender of the baby."

"Angel, do we have to?"

"Now, now, you agreed darling. And I want to be able to get a start on decorating."

"So you can steep the child in culture specific gender stereotypes that will be irrelevant a hundred years from now?"

Three of the doctors seem hypnotized by what they are seeing on the screen, so Mr. Fell turns to Dr. Sepp. "My dear doctor, might we check to see the gender of the child?"

Dr. Sepp, unexpectedly, finds herself acting as if she were talking to a normal parent about their normal, wingless, organ containing, baby. "Well," she says, "Lets see if baby cooperates."

Baby does indeed cooperate, and the doctors and technicians finally see something they can interpret. More or less. 

"I'm not sure I quite can tell," says Fell, conversationally. 

The fetal medicine doctor finds himself compelled to speak. He is trying to be politic and gentle and very sensitive, but he doesn't seem to be able to choose his words as carefully as he normally would. It's as if they are being pulled right from his mind. "Well baby is not clearly one gender or the other, probably intersex; we won't know more till the baby is born."

"HAH!", shouts the pregnant man on the table. 

"Well you needn't be so smug," says his partner. "Though I suppose it will better off. It will be less likely to get stuck in a rut."

" 'They', Angel. Nobody calls babies 'It' anymore. They haven't for a century."

"But 'They' isn't proper English."

"Is now. And They won't get stuck in a rut. Because They will have me for a parent." 

"I suppose I could get used to the new usages." 

The doctors and technicians watch this exchange with interest, but with no comprehension, much as a golden retriever would watch a tennis match. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aziraphale notices the doctors and technicians again. He smiles a very comforting smile. All five of them turn to look at him when he speaks, and they all feel very relieved. They were worried about something before, and now it doesn't seem to be a problem. Aziraphale waves them over to some stools that seem to have been left behind in this room by mistake. 

"You have all been so wonderful, and we'll only need a few more minutes of your time."

Dr. Nicola Sepp isn't sure exactly how her patient managed to get dressed so fast, but there he is, sitting up on the bed in his tight pants and loose top with shoes and jacket already on and the sunglasses still in place. He is nearly smiling. His partner leans against the table and takes his hand. These are the moments, Nicola thinks, that made her want to go into this field. Those happy moments, when she can be present during the creation of a family. The white haired man is so very nice. 

"Now we just have a few more questions," the white haired man says, "Before we let you all get back to your work. First, if you could give us an idea of how much longer it will be before the baby is ready to be born?"

None of the doctors even speak, but the patient nods as if they had. 

"Twelve weeks," the patient says. 

"Twelve weeks should give us plenty of time, right darling?", says the partner. Then he turns to the staff. "Now we wanted a bit more information on how to go about doing the actual birthing." 

"Angel," interrupts the patient, "I've already looked it up."

"Well, these are the professionals."

"I've got it handled. I can figure out how to do it from the pictures."

As they bicker, Dr Nicola Sepp emerges from her mental fog. She is alarmed. "For a baby with this many complexities, a hospital birth is the ONLY safe option. In fact..."

She falls silent when Mr. Fell smiles at her. 

"Now, would you have any instructional brochures? Preferably with pictures?"

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aziraphale and Crowley are driving home in the Bentley. Crowley is pretending to scowl, but he can't even fool himself. 

"Waste of time," Crowley mutters.

Aziraphale hums as he looks through a series of grainy black and white images. 

"This one," he says. "We'll put this one up on the fridge. You can see their wings." 

fin

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to show what it can look like when a person whose gender presentation is unusual gets treated reasonably well by their doctor. 
> 
> I hope my imaginary staff did all right by Crowley. I am sure that folks who are reading this who are intersex, trans, or queer have had at least a few less good encounters with their doctors. 
> 
> If any doctor had tried to shame or objectify or misgender Crowley of course, the story would have ended in about three lines, because the demon would have have turned them into a smoking crater.


End file.
